


we show off our scarlet letters (trust me, mine is better)

by andperidot



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Gen, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andperidot/pseuds/andperidot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sadness, fury, guilt -- Ashley tries to process every negative emotion she's ever felt in her life, all while building herself back up bit-by-bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we show off our scarlet letters (trust me, mine is better)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the game, with the presumption that everyone survives and Josh is hospitalized after being successfully brought back from the mountain. Title yanked from New Romantics by Taylor Swift. I don't think there are any major triggers, but this fic does deal with a lot of heavy emotions naturally resulting from being hunted by a fake serial killer and then nearly eaten by wendigos, so you probably know if you are in the mood to read about that or not. 
> 
> I've never posted here before, so apologies in advance if I muck this up somehow.

Sometimes, Ashley goes to the hospital to visit Josh.

She hasn’t worked up the nerve to actually go in with the others, of course. And she’s never actually talked to him. He’s still on a lot of painkillers, plus some new antipsychotics, so he’s kind of drifting in and out of consciousness a lot. Those are the times when she sits in his room, just watching – if he’s awake, she avoids going in as much as possible.

(Call it cowardice. Call it whatever you want. She’s not Chris, okay? She’s not some _saint_.)

Sometimes, while she’s there and he’s asleep, Ashley studies. A few of the others decided to take time off school, after, but she just wants to be there more. It’s something to focus on; it has structure and routine and normalcy. How ridiculous that after all this time, nerdy Ashley’s coping mechanism is homework, but there you have it. Some things change forever, and some things never will.

They’re reading Frankenstein right now, which is sort of uncomfortable, in part because Ashley has read it twice, and in part because the entire thing is about how sympathetic monsters are. Not that she doesn’t sympathize with Josh, because she does. A lot.

It’s just that she’s never tried to be kind and forgiving and rational while still being so, so furious at the same time.

“I get it, you know,” she says now, quietly, watching as Josh’s chest rises and falls with slow, easy breaths. “You had every reason to hate us.”

What they did to Hannah would have been terrible enough on its own, even if she’d never run away. Even if Beth hadn’t followed. Even if they hadn’t fallen together, down down down to all those caves and everything hidden inside.

She does feel horrible about it.

She does.

But even with all that hot, itching shame, it had still been an _accident_. Something no one had wanted to happen. And Josh had (has) every reason to hate them, but Ashley would have never dreamed he could hate them _that much_.

“I’m glad they found you alive,” she continues on quietly, not even sure whose benefit she’s speaking out loud for now. “But you – you made me think someone cut you open. You were _screaming_ , so loud. It wasn’t even real and I still see it in my head, over and over.”

She pauses, and then her voice drops to a whisper. “You made me think I was going to die.”

Josh’s eyelids flutter, but don’t open. Ashley gathers her things and gives his hand a light squeeze before leaving the room.

She knows she’ll forgive him, someday. Josh is one of her closest friends and she loves him and if anything in this sorry, silly world is certain, it’s that he’ll have his own fair share of remorse to work through.

For now, though, Ashley exhales her anger and watches it bleed into the sky.

*

She hasn’t really known how to talk to most of the group since that night on the mountain. She’s met up with Chris, of course, and spoken to Sam and Matt a little, but it’s hard to know what to say. Ashley figures that times of tragedy are meant to make people come together, or something, and maybe they’ll get there eventually. It’s just going to be awhile.

Case in point: the last time they tried to let a tragedy bring them together, Josh pretended to almost murder people in the name of justice, and then some nightmare monsters tried to eat everyone. Completely unrelated events, by the way.

With these general facts in mind, along with a few specific memories from the night, Ashley thinks she can’t be blamed for choking on her tea when she checks her phone and sees a message from Emily half an hour ago.

“Call me when you get this,” the tinny voicemail approximation of Em’s valley girl accent commands. Ashley thinks that this is a trap, probably, but it also somehow feels crappy to just ignore her. She sits in the middle of her room and chews her lip, deliberating anxiously.

Eventually, the part of her that just doesn’t _care_ anymore wins out – if Emily is actually out to destroy her, what can she even do that’s worse than Blackwood? – and she calls back. As the ring drones in her ear, Ashley thinks about how she’s pretty sure they’ve never had a one-on-one conversation before.

“Do you have any plans?” is the first thing Emily says when she picks up. Ashley blinks very slowly, and replies, “Not really.”

“Meet me at the mall in an hour.” Then Emily _hangs up_. Ashley stares at her cell. She is not sure about many things these days, but she feels almost positive that is not how a phone call, or an invitation anywhere, is supposed to work. Either Emily’s parents did not raise her right, or they are straight-up wolves.

The mall is crowded, which is nice. Ashley feels safer when there’s more people and noise swirling around her. She’s been thinking about getting a job, maybe, so she can move to New York sooner.

She sits in Starbucks for awhile, texts Emily where she’s at, then tentatively sends a message to Chris as well.

_hanging out with emily today_

Two seconds later:

**????????????????????????**

Ashley laughs despite herself.

_i know. her idea._

**are you sure shes not out to murder and/or permanently disfigure and/or publically humiliate you?**

_nope. if i die you and josh can split up my stuff_

**if I havent heard from you in an hour ill come peel you off whatever surface she grafted you onto**

Ashley laughs again, which is kind of terrible timing because Emily chooses that exact moment to slam her shopping bags onto the table and aggressively sit down across from her. She isn’t sure how a person aggressively sits, but Emily undeniably pulls it off.

“Um, hey,” Ashley says. Very awkwardly.

“Hi, Ash. Did you replace that disgusting blue hoodie yet?”

What?

“What?”

Emily looks extremely pained. “Did you. Replace. Your disgusting. Blue. Hoodie yet?”

“…No.” Ashley hesitates for a moment, then says, “I threw everything away; most of it was so…”

“Disgusting? Like the blue hoodie?”

Ashley feels the urge to say that she is, in fact, aware that the hoodie was both blue and disgusting, but she clamps down violently. “Did you…did you want me to come here so we could talk about how gross my clothes were that night, or…?”

Emily’s eyes sweep over Ashley critically, which makes her want to crawl into a hole. Then she informs her, “We’re going shopping. My treat.”

What?

“What?”

Emily makes that pained face again and responds, in voice that sounds more flatly exhausted than authoritative, “Don’t question it.”

She grabs her bags and stands up to leave. Ashley is too bewildered and, frankly, intrigued to do anything other than follow.

They visit a few different shops. Emily doesn’t say anything most of the time. Ashley feels like she should ask what’s going on, maybe try to bring up the last time they actually spoke to each other in any capacity, but it’s going to be awkward if she gets slapped again in the middle of Anthropologie.

However, it just gets _too_ weird when Emily tells her she looks good in a new (non-blue, non-disgusting) jacket, and Ashley asks, “Okay, what the hell are we doing?”

She just looks her over again and says, “I assume you’ve been to a store and tried on clothes before, Ashley.”

“Is this supposed to be, like, Chinese water torture or something? Are you punishing me with, with, weird gestures of generosity plus the silent treatment? Is that a thing you do?”

Emily scoffs. “Has Chris ever told you that you’re really melodramatic?”

Ashley takes a deep breath and says, “Look, I know you don’t…believe me, or you do but it doesn’t matter, but…I _am_ sorry about what happened on the mountain. In the basement. I was awful to you.”

The words hang in empty air for a moment as Emily glances away and folds up a shirt she’d been looking at. Then she says quietly, “I’m sorry I hit you. And pushed you down.”

“You don’t have to apologize--”

“Yes, I do.” Emily looks up sharply now. “Thing is, I’ve been thinking about it a long time. And…I know I said I wouldn’t have done the same thing.” She keeps unfolding the shirt and refolding it. “But, I mean, who am I kidding?”

Ashley shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter. You were scared.”

Emily stares at the shirt. “So were you.”

The silence stretches between them. Even though she thinks it would probably be better for her to shut up, Ashley murmurs, “You could’ve died. I—I _told_ Mike you should die.”

“Yeah, well.” Emily’s gaze meets hers. “You could have, too. When I shoved you. Those…things, you know. They might have caught up. So I guess we can be shitty self-centered assholes together, or something.”

Ashley tries not to think about it. She grasps in her head for the best thing to say next, and _somehow_ lands on “Do you really think this jacket looks okay?”

Emily’s smile is small and uneasy, but real. “Yeah. It does.”

*

Matt invites the group to some post-game bash. Everyone’s there except Josh, obviously; Ashley’s a little surprised to see Sam, given how she kind of closes off from everyone when bad things happen, but she seems okay hanging out with Mike and Jess. Ashley knows that, probably, Sam doesn’t feel as calm and collected on the inside as she looks on the outside, but she still kind of envies her.

Ashley has her talents, but “faking calm and collected” is a skill that’s always been beyond her range, beyond her mind’s immediate knack for conjuring up disaster scenarios.

Chris doesn’t show up for awhile, which is weird. He’s not as much of a hard partier as Josh or Jess, but he’s always one of the first people at these kinds of things. Likes a good time. Ashley probably wouldn’t have started going to the group’s get-togethers a few years back if Chris hadn’t constantly been inviting her.

The image of a slowly-descending saw flashes through her head and Ashley flinches before throwing back another swallow of beer, which, like every kind of beer, tastes like the encapsulation of all human suffering. Suddenly the room feels too claustrophobic and there’s zero oxygen and she just has to _leave_. Not, like, leave leave, but go outside for maybe just a moment. Not too far. Just on the porch or something. She almost trips over some passed-out guy in her efforts to get out the door, but eventually manages without having a meltdown.

Ashley inhales hard and the night air is cool like water. She shifts from foot to foot, reminding herself that she can keep moving if she wants to. Everything is fine and she isn’t trapped and nothing is chasing her.

Suddenly, she sees Chris’s car parked across the street. He’s inside, not leaving the driver’s seat. Ashley hesitates for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t go over to him – maybe he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, if he’s just sitting out here – but eventually she can’t help herself and goes, fighting not to look over her shoulder the whole time.

(All the stories say not to look. Someone you love gets stuck in the underworld, or you turn into a pillar of salt, or _something_. It doesn’t matter. You’re just not supposed to look, unless you’re actively trying to lose everything, and she’s not quite that far gone yet.)

Chris jumps a little when she taps on the window, but smiles broadly when he realizes it’s her. She gently tugs open the door and slides into the passenger seat.

“Hey. Hi,” he says, with a soft smile that makes her chest hurt. She returns it, pushing down the quiet swell of guilt that wants to rise every time she sees him. “Hi.”

“So…I’d ask about the party, except I guess you’re probably out here for the same reason I am.”

“Yeah.” Ashley sighs, looking out the window. “It’s just…so hard to _talk_ to people, you know?”

“Uh huh.” Chris drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Best-case scenario, you have no idea how to relate to anything going on in their life; worst-case, they’ll realize somewhere that you’re one of _those_ kids and get all nervous about what to say and it sucks.”

“Oh my God, yes. It’s _so bad_ ,” Ashley groans, which makes him laugh. She’d feel good about doing that, except taking credit for making Chris even briefly happy somehow feels like such a shitty thing to do. It’s possible that that doesn’t make any sense, but, well, whatever.

 _I hate him_ , she suddenly thinks, without even knowing why – it’s not true, she doesn’t mean it, but the quiet swell of guilt turns into a pinprick stab and Ashley honestly has no clue what her feelings are doing right now. It’s all busted up, ever since the mountain.

She tries to let go, tell herself it’s fine and it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just like when perfectly healthy people randomly think about jumping off buildings or pushing someone off a bridge, it’s just your brain pulling up random stuff that you don’t actually want or believe in.

But, when Ashley looks at him again, it reminds her of Josh, and it makes her realize: she doesn’t hate Chris. She loves him, as much as she’s ever loved anyone. She’s just so fucking _mad_.

“Have you talked to him lately?” she asks suddenly, not bothering to specific who. Chris knows.

He looks down, to the side. Drums his fingers again. “Yeah. Kinda.”

She wants to say that there’s no _kinda_ in this situation, either he has or he hasn’t, but she swallows those words and chooses different ones. “How is it?”

Chris shrugs a little. “I dunno. I mean…he feels really fucked up about everything. It sucks to see him going through all that. I’m just trying to be there for him and stuff, so he doesn’t feel alone on top of everything.”

There’s a fencing match happening in Ashley’s head between the anger and the remorse. She has no idea what to do, or which side to throw in with.

Until Chris opens his mouth and tells her, “He doesn’t talk about it much, but I can tell he really misses you.”

It’s like being punched in the stomach. “What?”

“I said, he—”

“No, it—I heard you. Just, am I—am I supposed to _care?_ ”

He looks stunned for a moment, unsure of how to process what she just said. “Ash, what…what are you saying?”

“I’m saying—” She presses her hands against either side of her hand, inhaling deeply with closed eyes, before dropping them back down to fold her arms across her torso. “I’m saying that Josh is one of my oldest friends and he matters to me and I want him to get better and also I want him to never, ever talk about _missing_ me or being _sorry_ or wishing I was there, like that’s something that would be a fucking pleasant experience for either of us. God.”

You could suffocate someone with the blanket of silence that settles over the car.

A muscle in Chris’s jaw works as he swallows hard. “Okay, um. Uh, I get that, you know, he…he really screwed with us, for a minute there. But, he…he was sick. That’s not who he is, not really.”

Ashley stares at him, betrayed. “Are you saying he couldn’t _help_ it?”

“Well, sort of!” He’s starting to sound defensive, giving her this look like a wounded animal. “Look, Ash, there was a lot of stuff going on his head, stuff he couldn’t control—”

“Oh, okay, and that’s supposed to make everything fine—”

“ _No!_ No, it’s not, Jesus Christ, but—”

“You know, a lot of people are sick, a lot of people don’t take their meds or they want to hurt everyone else, but they still don’t actually _do_ it, they find another way to—”

“ _I know that!_ ” Chris yells to be heard above her. “I know, okay? He’s responsible for stuff, sure. I just meant that I feel bad for him because he’s my best friend and he’s been going through something _really complicated_ for practically his entire life and he regrets what he did, he wants to be better and make it up to everyone, and I think that _matters_ , okay? I’m not one of those people who can just not care how somebody feels, even when they did something wrong. I’m not just gonna cut him off, and I guess you are, which is fine, whatever, you have the right, but I…he…”

Something in his voice breaks, and Ashley expects the fury inside of her to deflate, because it’s too much work and energy and exertion, but it doesn’t. Instead, it only gets a little quieter, pulls back to balance with the remaining strands of empathy twisting around her heart _just_ tightly enough, and some kind of calm drapes over her as a result. She glares at her hands, not sure if she wants to hurt Chris or Josh or herself. Not sure if she wants to save Chris or Josh or herself.

( _God_ , why is she so fucking broken? What happened on the mountain would mess with anyone, sure, but somehow it feels like this goes beyond that. Like she could find at least a few emotions to feel consistently, instead of struggling to pick through all of them at once.)

“I’m not going to cut him off,” she says quietly, feeling Chris’s eyes cautiously scan over her. “I’m just…I don’t…know how to deal, or whatever. Five stages of grief, except nobody actually died. This year, anyway.”

Chris doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. “Yeah, I get that. I’ve…sorta been there too, it’s just that…I’m not even sure. Dunno how to be more angry than worried, I guess.”

“That’s fine,” Ashley responds. “That’s…that’s great. Functional, even.” She lets out a dry little laugh. “You’re way better at this than I am.”

“That totally depends on a certain point of view, though,” Chris tells her, visibly relaxing now that the shouting match is over. “I mean, some people might say it’s totally fucked up to try and be there for someone who—” He stops short. “Well. You know.”

“Yeah. I was there.”

They hit a lull, both thinking. Ashley picks at a loose hangnail. “I just keep thinking about the…saws, and everything. All the blood. The organs. He couldn’t stop screaming, and—” She steals a quick look at Chris. “He was begging you not to choose him, asking you why you were. I can’t imagine how guilty you felt. And he was making _all_ of it up.”

“For me the gun was worse,” he admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had nightmares about the other stuff. But that was definitely worse.”

“Really?” Ashley says, surprised. “I mean, not like that was a picnic either, but…I don’t know, something about all the details from before just…stick with me.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense. It’s just…” Chris leans back and runs his hands over his face, sighing. “It’s not even how bad it was on the surface. It’s what it made me realize about myself.”

She frowns and reaches out to touch his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He looks at her nervously. “I’m really not proud of this, Ash.”

“It’s okay. Tell me.”

Chris hesitates, then says, “I know I…I picked myself. But even when I was pointing the gun at my head, I…there was a part of me…that wasn’t sure.”

Her heart starts beating a little faster, and the guilt from before starts to uncoil and rise up again, like a snake out of sleep. “About what?”

He squeezes her hand, seemingly without meaning to. “It was just like…like there was this voice in my head. Telling me it should be you. That I was afraid to die, so you should instead.”

Ashley looks straight ahead. A squirrel runs across the street. “It’s okay, Chris.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She tucks some hair behind her ear with her free hand and turns back to him. “It _is_. I mean, that’s just, like, a basic survival instinct. No one wants to die. It’s your brain trying to keep you alive—”

“Dammit, Ashley, you’re not _listening_ ,” Chris snaps suddenly. He’s still holding her hand. “I know, okay? I’ve thought about it over and over. Hell, I’ve done _research_. It’s an instinct to want to survive even at someone else’s expense and anyone would have that feeling, sure, I get it. But it’s not like I just had a thought, or that my _instincts_ or whatever came up with something that I so nobly resisted, because I’m so selfless and honorable and great. I _considered_ it, okay? Not like someone just having a normal thought that would just naturally happen in a bad situation. There was a part of me that really thought about shooting you, because it wanted to live no matter what. Not a small part. A big part. And it doesn’t even matter if it wasn’t as big as the part that wanted you to live, because I still _had to think about it_. That’s it. That’s what I hate about myself.”

Another silence falls over them. Ashley doesn’t let go of his hand; just watches his face and all the subtle little ways it screams _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ at her. The guilt slithers up her spine until she can’t take it anymore and finally says it aloud.

“You’re not that special, Chris.”

His gaze sweeps over her, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

Her throat starts feeling thick, like it always does when she’s about to cry. “You know, it’s kind of unfair that Josh decided you should be the only one to have to make decisions. I mean, it’s not like I’m some… _font_ of generosity or something great like that.”

Chris is starting to look concerned, which is so fucking awful. It’s like he doesn’t even care about how everyone he loves would throw him under the bus. “Ash, I don’t…I don’t know what this is about, but…”

“It was when you were coming back. When the stranger got killed, and you, you were being chased.” Hell, now she’s actually crying. It’s so wrong, because people always want to make her feel better when she cries and she doesn’t deserve that right now, not from Chris. “It only took place over a couple of seconds, but I thought…I thought maybe I shouldn’t let you in.”

He lets go of her hand, but it’s to run a hand through her hair, as some kind of fucking _comforting gesture_. “Ash, it’s like you said. We were all fucked up, and people, you know, in situations like that, they automatically—”

“Chris, that’s the thing! It doesn’t even make sense. It wasn’t like what Josh did, where it was down to your life against mine. I would have been fine no matter what I did, I know that, I _know_. But I couldn’t…I…” She swipes angrily at her tears. “I just thought, for some reason, even though you hadn’t done _anything_ to me, even though there was no reason for me to doubt you—I saw you running to the door and I thought, _what if he turns on me later?_ What if something happens that makes him leave me behind, or decide not to help me, or that I have to die? It’s like—like when we found out Emily had the bite. That might have happened to _me_ , and maybe everyone would have decided I should be killed. And, you know, here I am, thinking about not letting you in because maybe I can’t trust you even though you’re the most dependable person in the _world_ , and talking about how Mike should shoot Emily, so basically I’m exactly the thing I’m scared of and the hugest hypocrite in the entire universe. You know, at least – at least when Josh gave you the gun, that was something real. That was something clear-cut, you or me. I think about letting people die just because of _possibilities_ , things that turn out to not even happen, so what does that make me?”

“Ash,” Chris says softly. “Ash, come here.”

She can’t, though; she’s too upset and crying too hard and he wants to be _nice_ to her, when she’s a completely terrible person, so he reaches around to pull her into the hug instead. It’s not fair.

Nothing is fair.

Then Chris tilts her head up and kisses her. His lips are warm, soft for a boy; she can’t help surging up to return it, biting gently. It’s sweet and deep and much better than last time, when she thought he might never come back.

They break apart, breathing hard. He looks kind of dazed, which is bizarre, because Ashley has no experience and cannot possibly be that good of a kisser. Chris is so weird. Not that she thinks she’s pathetic or unpleasant or anything, but Matt and Mike need to give him a lesson in standards.

“Emily was right,” she says suddenly. Chris looks at her suspiciously and asks, “What, are you going to Emily for advice on emotionally charged confessions that lead to making out?”

“No, it—she just said something to me the other day and I thought I understood but I didn’t, until now.”

“Like what?”

_We can be shitty self-centered assholes together, or something._

(We can be scared and messy and monstrous and sympathetic and forgivable and loving all at once, or something.)

(We can want to do terrible things and still choose not to leave each other behind, or something.)

“We can be okay, or something,” Ashley tells hm. Chris smiles at her, and leans in again, and then—

—and then an egg hits the window.

Ashley screams while Chris jumps in his seat and shouts, “Oh, come _on_ , you guys!”

She twists around to look and sees Jess with an egg carton, practically doubled over laughing, while Mike snickers next to her. Sam stands next to them with her face in her hands and Emily rolls her eyes. Ashley can see Matt coming out of the house and taking the carton from Jess while he says something that, from across the street, sounds like “Those are _our eggs, Jess_ , _why are you a she-beast directly from hell_.” Okay, maybe that last part is just Ashley substituting in what she would say.

“We need new friends,” Chris says flatly.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Completely different social group.”

“Well, Sam’s okay.”

“Sam and Matt.”

“And Emily.”

“Right, right, ‘cause you guys are BFFs now.”

“And Josh.”

“So basically we just need to kick out Jess and Mike.”

“Yes,” Ashley replies immediately. “Throw them both in the trash where they belong.”

“Hey,” Chris says, like he’s only just realized something. “You said ‘and Josh.’”

Ashley lets out a breath, tired but significantly more stable than several minutes ago. “I’m mad at him. I don’t want to be around him. It won’t last forever.”

“Okay.” He looks thoughtful. “That’s…yeah. Look, I’m sorry for…not getting it, before. Or reacting all wrong, I guess.”

“It’s okay.” Ashley looks out towards the stars in the sky. “I’m sorry for exploding all over you.”

Chris bops her on the shoulder playfully. “You _are_ kinda on the repressed side, you know.”

She’s about to say _you’re one to talk_ , but Jess eggs the car again, so instead Ashley rolls down the window, sticks her head out, and screams, “DON’T THROW SHIT AT PEOPLE WHO HAVE PTSD, YOU GODDAMNED ANIMALS.”

Chris bursts out laughing as Jess and Mike high-five, because Ashley has chosen to lay her affections with the worst people imaginable. She rolls her eyes and opens the door, dragging Chris after her by the arm instead of waiting for him to just get out on his own side. They walk to where their friends are waiting for them, and congratulate Matt on the team’s win. Emily reaches an affectionately possessive arm around his shoulder, talking about how her guy’s the best. The seven of them go back inside to where the party is ( _traveling like a pack,_ Ashley thinks).

Somewhere, in the middle of everything, Mike telling exaggerated stories and Emily making fun of them with Sam and Matt hassling Jess about how she should repay him for the eggs by rejoining cheer (“that doesn’t even make _sense_ , Matty,” Jess scoffs), Chris’s hand finds Ashley’s again. She thinks of Blackwood Mountain, of Josh lying in his hospital bed. She thinks of the bad things she’s done. The things she knows she could do.

In between heartbeats, she imagines holding them all in her hands, and setting each one free like a bird.


End file.
